


The Sound of Wind and Sea

by miloowen



Series: The Post-A Million Sherds Universe [10]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Beginnings, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miloowen/pseuds/miloowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lunch between Admiral William T Riker and Captain Joao da Costa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Wind and Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This is set ten years after Cochrane Day, in the Post-A Million Sherds universe.

 

 

 

            Da Costa was fairly sure that he’d made a mistake, in agreeing to this, but it was too late now, and so he nodded, as he saw the tall, lanky figure make his way towards the table.  He’d thought it would be more private, to sit out on the verandah overlooking the bay; he’d chosen a time, in the late afternoon, when it was unlikely that the restaurant would be full.  The Admiral was not in uniform, even though da Costa knew he’d been in meetings all morning long, but he still carried himself as if he were, and it was amusing to da Costa to watch the restaurant staff respond to him with automatic deference.

            Many years ago, when the Admiral was a much younger man, he would have brashly slung his leg over the chair and sat down, a grin plastered across his face; those days, da Costa mused, were long gone.  The Admiral extended his hand, which da Costa shook, and simply sat down, taking the chair partly in shadow, perhaps, da Costa thought, in an effort to hide the strain of grief and anxiety around his eyes.

            “What made you decide to settle here?” The waiter appeared, and the Admiral said, “Vodka, light on the ice – and just wave the tonic over it.”

            “Yes, sir,” the waiter replied, quickly vanishing.

            Da Costa shrugged.  “I’ve been at Starfleet Medical for so long,” he answered, “that this now feels like home to me.”

            The Admiral drummed his fingers on the table absently, as if anxiety were simply a normal state of existence.  “I’d forgotten about this place,” he said, finally.  “We ate here, once.  Twenty years ago, maybe.  I can’t remember why we were here.  Some stupid ceremony, no doubt.”

            Since the Admiral was here for yet another stupid ceremony, da Costa let the remark slide.

            “So what do you plan to do with your life?” the Admiral asked.  “Now that you are off the hook, from having to listen to the complaints of Starfleet officers?”

            “I’m not sure,” da Costa answered.  “I’d always assumed that I’d write that one book everyone thinks they have.  But now, now that it’s reality…well, I don’t know.  I can take my time, Will, I think, before I make any decisions.”

            “We all think we have that,” the Admiral said.  He took his drink from the waiter and took a sip, his eyes sliding away to the view.

            “We all think we have what, Will?” da Costa asked.

            “Time,” Will Riker answered.  “We all think we have plenty of time.”

            There was a small sailboat, out on the bay, and da Costa watched the Admiral’s eyes follow it as she came about and dipped her bowsprit in the azure water, spray foaming and sails full.  His eyes, da Costa noted, were almost the exact same colour as the day’s sea.

            “I heard,” da Costa ventured, “that retirement was coming your way as well.”

            “Oh, yeah?” The Admiral’s glance was sharp – a look da Costa had no trouble remembering.  “Where’d you hear that?”

            This time his shrug was just a little bit self-conscious.  “Idle gossip, I expect,” he answered.

            The Admiral laughed, and there was an undertone of bitterness to it.  “It seems,” he said, “I have outlived my usefulness.”

            Da Costa was surprised.  “They haven’t offered you an ambassadorship?” he asked.

            The Admiral smiled, but it was merely reflex, from a lifetime of smiling.  “They tried,” he admitted.  “I told them –“ he seemed rather pleased with himself – “to fuck off.”

            Da Costa laughed in spite of himself.  “I’m pleased to hear that some things never change.”

            The waiter appeared again.  “Is your drink satisfactory, sir?”

            The Admiral glanced at him, and then favoured him with the smile da Costa remembered.  “Of course,” he said.  “Are you ready to order, Joao?  Anything you want to recommend?” He returned to the waiter.  “This place used to make a passable crab Louis here, once.  Is that still on the menu?”

            “Yes, sir,” the waiter said.  “And for you, Doctor?”

            If the Admiral was surprised that the waiter recognised him, da Costa didn’t see it.  “I’ll just have the usual,” he said.

            “One scampi with langostino,” the waiter replied.  “And one crab Louis.  Would you care for a glass of water, sir?”

            “No.  Just coffee, for after the meal.”

            “Back to drinking coffee again?” da Costa asked.

            The Admiral said, and da Costa could hear the exhaustion in his voice, “Would it make any difference now, Joao?”

            “Will.”  There was one couple seated several tables away from them, but da Costa still found himself hesitating, before he reached out to place his hand on the Admiral’s.  “It’s been almost two years.”

            “Don’t tell me how to grieve,” the Admiral responded, and da Costa remembered him saying once to him, so very long ago, “You’ve overstepped your bounds, da Costa, do you hear me?”

            “Of course not, Will.”  He removed his hand.

            “You’re not my psychiatrist anymore.”  There was no anger in this statement – it was just a statement of fact.  A drawing of a line, perhaps.

            “No,” da Costa acknowledged.  “Just, I hope, a friend.”

            The Admiral was silent, his eyes drifting out towards the bay and the sloop out there again, and then he said, “It was too fucking soon for them to do this, Joao.  Just too soon.”

            “I know,” he agreed.  “But you know Starfleet.  When they start talking about doing something they think is good, it’s best to run the other way.”

            The Admiral’s face brightened for the first time, and da Costa felt a small glimmer of hope.

            “Why are you really here?” The Admiral had once again focused those intensely blue eyes on him, and da Costa felt as if he were twenty-one again.

            “I thought it would be good –“

            “Don’t,” the Admiral said, “bullshit a bullshitter.  Who put you up to this?  Joao?”

            Da Costa sighed.  “Two old friends can’t share a drink and a meal together?”

            “Which one was it?” the Admiral insisted.  “Or are you going to make me guess?”

            “Dr McBride always used to tell me that you were too smart for your own good,” da Costa replied.

            “Ha,” the Admiral said.  “So which one was it?  I know which one it wasn’t – it wasn’t Rose, because she knows better.”

            “I’m not checking up on you, Will,” da Costa said.  “I promise you I’m not.”

            The Admiral took a breath, as if he hadn’t been breathing – of course, he hadn’t been breathing, da Costa thought – and if da Costa had been expecting anger, he was surprised to find there was none.  Instead, this time the Admiral’s smile was fragile.  “It may be,” he said, and his voice was so quiet that da Costa had to strain to hear it over the sound of wind and sea, “Joao, that it is still, for me, too soon.”

            Da Costa nodded, as the waiter set down their plates.  “Of course,” he agreed.  “But, Will –“ This time he didn’t hesitate as he reached out.  “You know where I am.”

 

           

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [An Early Frost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787419) by [Rikerbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikerbabe/pseuds/Rikerbabe)




End file.
